


Serpent On A Bed Of Leaves

by AetherAria



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: (tho... the one physically hurt... is the one comforting), Blood, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Lizard Kissin' Tuesday (Penumbra Podcast), Multi, Nightmares, Second Citadel (Penumbra Podcast), non-graphic injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 16:04:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20509733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherAria/pseuds/AetherAria
Summary: Arum has a nightmare. Somehow, waking from it proves to be even more distressing.





	Serpent On A Bed Of Leaves

**Author's Note:**

> *shrugs loudly and pushes this fic out of my head and onto y'all instead* i don't even know. i'm sorry i keep bullying my baby lizzer. please enjoy regardless?
> 
> Title from the song Wild Roses by Of Monsters and Men.

There is blood on Arum’s knives. Blood on his claws, too, hot and wet and dark, dripping between his fingers and down his wrists, sticky and slick and running in rivulets between his scales all the way down his arms to drip from his elbows.

The blood is not his own; he knows that without needing to think. He is whole. Unharmed. The blood belongs to-

He _knows_ who the blood belongs to.

There is a pressure on his chest. Breathing feels sluggish and strange, as does any attempt to move.

He can taste blood between his teeth, too. Metallic and wrong. He should spit, or retch, but he doesn’t.

Arum does not want to look down. He knows. He _knows_, if he looks down. He knows what he will see. Knows deep in his bones the terrible thing he has done, knows and does not want to _see_-

He does not want to look. His head angles down, as if his eyes are magnetized, as if gravity is weighing on the tip of his snout and pushing it inevitably towards the ground. He _does not want to look_, but his eyes fall regardless.

Their eyes look somewhere past him, glassy and dull. Their chests remain obstinately still. He cannot hear their hearts. And the blood- enough blood to pool around his feet, so much, _too_ much, the smell like a butchery in high summer and the matching red-black on his arms is going tacky and stiff and he wants to run or howl or fight but his legs are stiff and immobile, his fingers will not release the knives in his hands.

He killed them.

(-hunting Damien through the night, through vines and branches, stalking and taunting and then dropping, knives drawn-)

He killed them.

(-snarls and Amaryllis recoils, gasping, panting, wide-eyed and blind in the dark, and with teeth bared he laughs darkly at her fear-)

Arum _killed_ them, tore them apart with claws and knives and teeth, because he is a _monster_, and this is what monsters do to humans, even when those humans love him. Even when he loves them in return. It is not enough, it was never going to be enough-

Arum’s love was never going to be enough to protect them.

Hands on his shoulder. On his face.

He snarls, whirling, bloody claws raised in defense now, in anguish and fury, and he realizes halfway through the motion that he is-

He is _waking up_, and he recognizes too late where he is and he can’t stop his momentum. His claws connect, scraping two fresh red lines across Damien’s palm, and the sight of his blood hits Arum like ice.

He can’t breathe at all, for a moment, and Damien makes a small surprised noise as he cups his hand against his chest, his eyes wide as they rise to meet Arum’s own.

“I-” Arum’s voice is too rough, more snarl than word, and he needs to try a second time. “I- h-honeysuckle-”

Damien’s brow furrows in confusion as he squeezes his palm in his other hand, and Amaryllis is rolling over, waking more slowly, and Arum remembers the cold blankness of their eyes in his dream, and with the scent of fresh blood on the air Arum feels dizzy, feels like there is a hand squeezing his windpipe completely closed, and as Amaryllis blinks and mutters confusion, Arum scrambles backwards out of the bed entirely, and bolts from the room.

Damien calls after him. That makes him feel even more sick.

The Keep gives him half a greeting before it notices his distress, and when he gives a choked off request the Keep opens a door to a dark, quiet room among its roots, somewhere he can hide in close, cool darkness, where he can plunge his hand into one of the underground streams the Keep feeds from, where he can wash the blood from his claws and shake, and shake, and _shake_.

The Keep grows him a patch of large pale leaves of something like lamb’s ear, but Arum can’t stand them, can’t stand the softness, and he crouches in the corner instead. By the stream, where he can wash his hands again. No redness remains, but the memory- he washes his claws again, again, just to be sure, watching the water pass by, clear and somehow unmarred by his touch.

A portal opens at his back, and the humans step out.

A snarl rumbles up in Arum’s throat because _how dare the Keep bring them here_\- but that isn’t fair, is it? He’s told it to honor Damien and Amaryllis’ requests, and if they are here now, they must have asked. They must have wanted to be brought to where Arum hid.

He’s surprised, mostly, that they would bother to come bid him farewell before they leave him. That’s what they must be here for, he thinks dizzily. Damien must want last words. It’s always about words, with him.

Arum stuffs down the revulsion he feels with himself, stuffs down his guilt, and stands, though his shoulders are hunched and he cannot stop his tail from lashing anxiously behind him. They deserve to rebuke him when he isn’t cowering in some hole like the miserable creature he is, they deserve for him to look them in the eye when they tell him-

Damien’s injury is already bandaged. The new white stripe around his hand looks unspeakably clean down here, among roots and dirt and mud. His expression, though, isn’t what Arum expects. Neither of them are. Amaryllis looks concerned, tired, wary, but not furious as he expected, and Damien does not look disgusted or betrayed or filled with that cool fury Arum saw in him beneath the Terminus. He looks worried, looks- _scared_, perhaps.

_And why wouldn__’t he be?_ Arum thinks, his throat going tight and unbreathable again. _He is with a monster, a monster who he knows now will hurt him. Fear is a rather natural response to danger, and you have proven yourself dangerous to them_.

Arum steps back, slowly, until his back hits a dirt wall and there is no further room to put between himself and the humans, and he waits. He does not trust himself to speak first.

There is a long, unwieldy sort of pause, and then Damien’s scared expression cracks open and he speaks.

“Are you alright?”

Arum blinks, clenches his jaw together, narrows his eyes in confusion.

“Arum.” Damien’s body sways towards him, but he doesn’t take a step. He raises his hands between them, reaching, like he’s trying to coax a skittish horse. “Please, are you alright? My lily, you’re frightening me-”

“Am-” Arum’s voice rattles almost too much to be understood, his distress too wild to coalesce to reason. “Am _I_ alright? Ho- _Sir_ Damien, I- why- what could that _possibly_ matter?”

“Wh- what does that _matter_?” Damien looks astonished. “Of _course_ it matters, love, you were caught in the throes of some terrible dream and then when you awoke-”

“When I awoke I tore your hand open,” Arum says roughly. “I _hurt_ you and I- whatever state I am in is of no concern whatsoever.”

“Of course it is,” Damien says, brow furrowing.

“He doesn’t look hurt,” Amaryllis chimes from behind Damien, her hand gentle at his elbow.

“Of course I’m n- how would I even have-? And- and it doesn’t matter regardless, because-”

“Because you cut Damien by accident and now you think you deserve some hurt of your own?” Amaryllis snorts a laugh. “C’mon, Arum, I understand that you feel bad about this but of _course_ Damien and I are worried about you. We love you.”

Like a blow to the gut. “I hurt him,” Arum whispers. “I _could_ have hurt him much more direly. Could have hurt _either_ of you.”

“Arum, you’re so afraid of hurting us that you look like you’re trying to join the local root structure to avoid it,” Amaryllis says wryly, crossing her arms over her chest. “I love you. I’m not afraid of you. I stopped being afraid of you the first hour I knew you.”

Another time, Arum would probably scowl about that. Right now, he’s too focused on his breathing, focused on digging his claws safely in the dirt behind him to have room to feel insulted.

“You won’t hurt us,” Damien says. “It was an accident. I shouldn’t have tried to wake you like that, I-” he laughs - _laughs_ \- and gives an embarrassed sort of smile. “I forgot about your claws, _s__omehow_. I was too worried about pulling you from whatever dream was distressing you so, and I forgot to mind your sharper edges.”

Arum winces, feeling as if _all_ of his edges are too sharp, in fact. “No excuse for harming you, Sir Damien. You have every right to- to leave, and-”

“_Leave_? Whoever said a word about leaving?”

Arum pauses, then chokes out, “I _hurt you._ I clawed you open, Sir Damien, you have every right- _every_ right to remove yourself from a monster who would harm you.”

“A monster who would…” Damien’s voice goes warbling and high, and then he laughs again in a confused, slightly breathless way. “Oh, love, you would _never_ hurt me on purpose. Never. You are always so terribly careful with us-”

“And _yet_,” Arum snarls, “here we are, and regardless of _intent_ I have injured you, and- and I could have done much worse if I had struck somewhere other than your _hand_. I could have sliced your wrist, I could have slit your throat, I could have-”

“Arum, you _didn__’t_.” Damien takes a half-step towards him and Arum tenses.

“I’m getting the feeling that this is about more than just Damien’s hand,” Amaryllis says. “Seriously, that was barely a scratch. Something else is going on.”

Arum’s eyes flick away, look anywhere else in the room besides at the herbalist.

Damien steps closer, though, and Arum can’t help the way he flinches. “D-don’t, Sir Damien. I- just _leave_ and-”

“I am not going to leave you,” Damien says, quiet and firm, and Arum feels a strange mingled swelling of relief and disbelief as the knight steps slowly closer. “Please, Arum. This is hardly the worst of trials we have endured. A sleepless night, the mildest of injury, a bit of worry… darling, we have endured worse by _far_.”

“S-stop,” Arum says, shaking his head and digging his claws more firmly into the roots behind him, burying them in gnarled wood. “I don’t- I don’t want to-”

Damien pauses, only a foot or so away now. “You won’t hurt me,” he says, voice so soft that it might as well be spiderweb. He takes the last step forward, and Arum stiffens with his back to the wall, clenches his teeth together and closes his eyes, and then he feels Damien’s familiar hands cup his face, his thumbs stroking Arum’s cheeks with unwavering gentleness, and Arum’s breath hitches, a helpless noise escaping him before he can stop it. “You won’t hurt me,” Damien says again, even softer. “Oh, my precious lily, I know you would never.”

“Sir Damien-”

“I’m not angry,” Damien says. “I’m not frightened. I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.” He leans up, Arum can feel him shift even with his eyes still closed, and he brushes his lips over Arum’s mouth, just gentle.

“Damien-”

“You need not stop yourself from calling me honeysuckle, my lily,” Damien says, and Arum blinks his eyes back open with an embarrassed wince, only to find Damien looking up at him with soft, indulgent, adoring eyes. “You know I love to hear such sweetness from you.”

“I- I-” Arum crumples, tucking his face into the crook of Damien’s neck, wrapping his arms around him while still keeping his claws carefully, _carefully_ away. “I am s-so sorry, honeysuckle, I cannot begin to say-”

“It was an accident,” Damien says again. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault. And the best physician in the land has declared the injury inconsequential, and I can assure you I trust her judgment implicitly.”

Arum chokes a laugh, clinging stiffly to the poet. “Still. _Still_. You should be safe with me, and yet-”

“We are,” Amaryllis says, coming closer. “Never safer. Just like you’re safe with us. We protect each other and take care of each other, Arum.” She steps behind Damien, and she places her hand over Arum’s, warm and gentle. “Which is why you should tell us what else is wrong, because we’ve known you long enough to know that panicking like that _really_ isn’t like you.”

“I… I know,” Arum says, and Damien’s fingers are sketching soothing circles and patterns down the scales of his back. “I know. I- I was- I was- hurting you, honeysuckle, it- it terrified me.”

“An accident, Arum,” Rilla says softly. “I mean, with my habit of waking up elbows swinging, I’m way more guilty of inflicting nighttime injury than either of you-”

“I dreamed I killed you,” Arum rasps, only barely keeping himself from pulling away from Damien as the horror rushes back through him. “Killed you _both_. Dreamed you dead, dead _by my hand_, and then woke to live it in faded echo and I-”

“Oh Arum,” Damien breathes, squeezing him tighter in his arms. “I’m so sorry, love. Is this- is that a nightmare you have often?”

“N… no,” Arum sighs. “Dreams are a rare occurrence altogether for me, and nightmares are rarer still.”

“That’s quite a relief,” Damien says with a smile, leaning back so he can catch Arum’s eye, so he can cup his face in his hands again. “It is a cruelty to be tormented by your own mind, and I cannot stand the thought of you suffering so, my lily. You would never hurt us. Clearly so, as the very idea caused you to flee from us rather than leave us in what you perceived as danger. Your sleeping mind presented you with something it knew you feared, which is all the more proof that you want us to be safe, want us hale and whole.”

Damien leans up, kisses him again, and Arum sighs in soft delight, and then Damien’s hands and Amaryllis’s hands are both easing him away from the wall, pressing him snugly between their small, warm bodies.

“Honestly, Arum, thinking we’d just _leave_-”

Arum growls, nuzzling his snout into Amaryllis’ ear. “Wasn’t thinking clearly, _obviously_. Should have kept in mind your ridiculous _stubbornness_.”

“We love you, dear lily,” Damien trills, and Arum’s swallows against the way that makes his heart leap. “It is not stubbornness. It is _devotion_, and our devotion shall not wane with a mishap so easily mended as this.”

Arum shudders out another sigh. “It still- _concerns_ me,” he admits. “I could still hurt either of you. And- and every moment you are with me is a danger, as well. Another way that my presence in your lives could put you to harm. Aligning yourself with a monster, if anyone were to discover-”

“We all knew the risks when we decided to try this,” Amaryllis says evenly, “and you’re in just as much danger on your side if anything got out. But being together is _worth_ a little risk, Arum.” She smiles, and then she taps the tip of his nose to make him wrinkle his snout. “Being with you is worth a _lot_. Isn’t it?”

Arum’s breath escapes him in a rush, and he stares down at his two radiant humans, at Amaryllis’ sly, comforting smirk, at Damien’s shy and hopeful smile, and his body thrums with a love so sharp it feels like it could kill him. He clutches them tighter, and his voice goes rough and rattling when he answers, “Worth _anything_. How- how dear you are to me… the privilege of loving you is worth anything in the world.”

And Arum will do his best to deserve that privilege. Because they _are_ worth anything, worth care and caution, worth _protecting_. Arum may still be scared- scared of hurting them, scared of being responsible for their harm, but Arum also knows how to turn his claws towards protection, knows how to transmute his fears into defenses. Arum is dangerous; this is true, but he will use his sharpness to keep them safe.

He loves them too much to do anything else.


End file.
